Fighting the Gravity
by xfucktheglasses
Summary: Discontinued.


You guys will probably remember this one; 'cept the last time it had a way different summary that I can't seem to remember for the life of me. So have that one instead. Anyway! I am bringing this back because its storyline is back in my head and I just... Really love this and I really, really, REALLY want to write a regency fic.

As I remember, last time: warnings include cliches, bad tensing (I confuse these, this is my fault) and other such nonsense. So, ye be warn'd!

ALSO I HAVE TO RANT ABOUT THIS HERE TOO. WHO WON THE WORLD SERIES?! THAT'S RIGHT, SF GIANTS. SWEPT THE SHIT OUT OF THE TIGERS. GET THE BROOMS AND START SWEEPING BABY! WHOO!

**Fighting the Gravity**  
**1**

She sits on the riverbank.

Princesses aren't supposed to sit on riverbanks—their dresses will soil and become useless. It is undignified to do such a ludicrous action; only street rats sit where they so wished and only filthy peasants feel nothing at ruining what little clothes they have to cover their backs.

But she is a princess—_the_ princess—and yet she sits there, on the riverbank, long, delicate fingers reach towards the lazy river, dips them into the cool water and watches as the flow of the current is unperturbed.

A wry smile curves her rosy lips as she entertains the thought that princesses shouldn't run out of the safety of her kingdom and the watchful eye of her bodyguard while there was a civil war forming and cutting the air out of the atmosphere. And yet she sits there, in her riverbank and closes her green eyes, wondering what it would feel like to just bunch up her skirts in her hands and jump over the river and never look back.

That thought never stays for long and she sighs, wearily, because just the act of wondering leaves her exhausted.

There is a crunch of leaves under elegant steps; she only hears it once but it is enough for her to look up, eyes as wide as a doe as she searches for the perpetrator of the disturbance. But no one is around and she tries to relax her nerves and will herself to stand her ground rather than to return to her home and be forced to be in the presence of her dear brother and her dear parents and allow them to abuse of her senses.

It's when she looks back down at the river that she realizes she isn't alone, anymore.

She is startled, head snapping up and shorter strands of her thick pink hair falling over her green eyes, lips parted and chest rising and falling in almost-fear.

He is crouched under the dead tree that rests by the river in an almost protective fashion; there are no leaves hanging from its branches in the late fall air, and as he crouches in place, she can hear the red-orange-yellow leaves crunch and break into tiny little pieces. But her attention is on him—she is transfixed at his scruffy hair, spiked and shaggy, all in one, dropping down to brush the end of his neck and fall over his dark red eyes.

He is dressed in all black. His coat—worn out and ragged, what was once gold trimmings, she presumes, was now soiled enough to look a murky brown, if not gray—ruffles in the breeze, exposing his dark top and the dark pants tucked into his boots. His elbows are propped onto his knees, hands falling in the empty space in between his parted legs and he is eyeing her, his lips in a frown with a ghost of a satisfactory smirk almost visible.

She swallows, thickly, caught between standing up and fleeing and staying seated where she is.

She stays.

"Princess Sakura." He is the first to break the silence and his voice is low and rich and smooth. It is like temptation curling around her and forcefully leading her to the sinful fruit. "What a pleasure to meet you, m'Lady."

She senses the mockery in his tone but she doesn't speak upon it. There is spitfire within her that wishes to mock right back, but she does not think there is any logic in mocking someone she does not know. So she remains silent, teeth worrying at the inside of her cheek and her eyes remaining as sharp as possible.

"What brings you here, in this quiet little clearing," and here she is sure of his haughty smirk. "All alone, at that."

Sakura narrows her eyes and curls her lips in an unladylike snarl—not fit for a princess, not befitting, her mother would have her head if she were aware—and curls her fingers into the soft soil of the riverbank. "I have no obligation to give explanations to a faceless commoner, let alone one that finds it glorifying to sneak up on his Princess and startle her half to death."

He chuckles and she watches the bump at the hollow of his throat bobble up and down, the vein at the side looking alluring, like the rest of him. He slowly licks his bottom lip, sparing their surroundings a glance before resting his eyes on her, once again. Sakura squares her small shoulders and shoves her sharp chin in the air, face determined to show her importance.

"Cut the act won't you, Princess," his words are smooth as they pass his smirking lips. "You hate your title, it's written all over your face."

"You insolent—"

He stands up to his full height and she is left breathless, the wind knocked right out of her.

He isn't oblivious to this and his mocking expression is quick to turn impassive.

"Who are you," Sakura demands, lips barely moving and lashes fluttering as she tries to regain her composure.

He is in front of her—inches away—in a blink of an eye and there is no mischievous mirth on his face; there is nothing but serious contempt and stubborn annoyance as he hisses in between his teeth, "Sasuke."

x

She sits in front of her vanity, allowing her lady-in-waiting to brush her hair into thin braids at the sides of her head and allowing the rest of her thick curls to fall gracefully where they wish. She stares at herself in the mirror, and watches the pretty lady-in-waiting with dark indigo-black hair and opal eyes as she smiles bashfully at her work.

Not too far, her bodyguard still looks quite annoyed at being scolded for her insolence and her poor decisions in running off.

Sakura is sorry for only a second before her mind quickly runs off to the thought of Sasuke and the importance his name seems to ring, but with no clear explanation as to why.

She worries at her inner cheek and sighs, looking out of her balcony's doors at the October sky and entertains thoughts with no directions.

x

It isn't until she sits at dinner, in one corner of the massive table filled with food and in her family's presence, days later, that she finds out just how important Sasuke is.

She is forking her ham with no real intentions to eat it and her eyes glued onto the bubbles of her cider, in front of her. She listens as her father and her brother talk about this impending attack that they should await at any given second, deciding how useless their search parties are and how many more empty-handed returns they will have to swallow before her elder brother is allowed to go on his own.

"It is impossible, Father, that someone as lowly as that scum makes a fool of us," her brother spits, hands curling into fists. He'd look beyond regal if he wore the armor he always donned but their mother would have no such at her table. Now, he just looks like a silly young man speaking silliness and nothingness. "I won't have him spitting at our names any longer. This Sasuke fellow must—"

"Pardon, if I may," she is speaking before she could even catch herself. Everyone's attention turns to her, her mother's brow raises up in wonderment—Sakura never spoke at the table unless a conversation is directed towards her. But the look that her mother wears doesn't specify if it is one that claims her youngest to be impudent or of true curiosity. "Sasori, you speak of this name—Sasuke; his name is one that, ah," she looks away for a second, swallowing, "I seem to hear very much but I have no idea of who he actually is. If you may, brother…"

Sakura watches him spare their parents a glance before returning his attention towards her. "The rebel leader, Sakura; he is the one that leads those that wish to kick us off our throne and do what they will with us."

With that, he returns to his conversation with their father, but Sakura does not mind as she sits there, like a cold statue, and wonders why exactly she remains alive when such a dangerous man had the perfect opportunity to end her life at that riverbank.

x

It's the first snow fall when Sakura manages to escape Neji and wander out to the riverbank.

It's frozen but she decides to pretend she can still hear the stream's music as it floats down its one-way path. She does not sit; rather, she chooses to stand, allowing the toes of her heels to dig into the light blanket of snow that drapes over the land. She tries to ignore the shivers, her stubbornness being enough to warm her up, even if by a smidge.

When she sighs, a white puff appears in front of her before disappearing out of existence. She decides that a stroll would do her some good, so she wraps her arms around herself and is quick to take clumsy steps through the snow, her eyes on everything and nothing at all.

Sakura feels annoyance at her lack of knowledge of what is going on in her world, her home—this land that her kingdom rules over. She is a sheltered princess but she is sheltered by her own self. She very much prefers to lock herself up in the library and read books and she very much would rather deal with picking flowers with her lady-in-waiting than sit around and listen to politics.

But perhaps she has sheltered herself more than a decent amount.

Certainly, she knows few things such as the trade her father refused to make with the king of the Land of Sound. But she has little to no idea why a rebellion against them would have risen.

Why doesn't she know?

She knows about fantasy worlds, of good princesses married off to princes and the tale of Snow White. She knows them all by memory and even knows the morals that they teach. Oh, so well acquainted she is with books and the limited universes that coax her to visit, she knows nothing about her own world—about the Land of Fire and the people her family rules over.

It is like being stripped of the clothes on her back—like walking in the snow with little garments to shield her from the cold because it is what is most comfortable.

She does not know if the idea excites her or worries her for her wellbeing.

"Lost, are you?"

She gasps, freezing with a foot half planted onto the ground and her arms flying out to either side of her in an attempt to balance herself upright. She looks around, feeling the adrenaline pump her veins as her eyes land on Sasuke.

"Well you have quite some nerve," she hisses, looking up at him from under her lashes.

Clearly, this is all an act—this mask of cool indifference and the ice cold queen is just that. A mask. Inside, her heart rams against her ribcage and her nerves shake her limbs with utter satisfaction. She is scared—terrified out of her mind. If what Sasori said was true, and this young man—not even a year older than she, not even past twenty—was in fact the rebel leader… No, she could not possibly think about this now.

Her breathing is beginning to get rough and she doesn't want him to figure out that she is scared.

He is staring at her with a baffled look, lips tipping down in a neutral frown and an eyebrow cocking upwards, hair falling to lightly shadow his eyes.

"Is this something you do often, commoner," she asks, keeping her tone as steady as she possibly can, "Showing yourself in this little clearing? Or are you following me?"

"Following you," he sounds highly amused, even if his facial expression shows nothing of the sort. "Princess, your crown is too tight around your head."

"Your insolence is most charming."

He smirks at her, wicked and promising. "Aren't you cold?"

"And if I am?"

He shrugs at her and looks away.

Sakura figures, standing where she stood, little ways of a man who wishes to destroy her family, that what bothers her the most is what her family hides. She admits that she is at fault at most, so introverted and isolated in her own little world, in the library, walking around the courtyard and the stables with her guard and her lady-in-waiting to ever fully be aware of anything.

She wishes she knew what her family could have ever done to have an entire resistance form against them. But then again, she's never gone down to the town her family rules over to notice anything different.

_Heaven, I am so naïve, _she hisses to herself, brow furrowed and jaw clenched.

Her breathing is erratic when she turns back towards Sasuke; if she is startled at catching him already staring at her, she does not ponder over it. "I know who you are."

"Is that so," he comments, lips barely moving.

"I know you know who I am." She swallows and bunches up her skirts in her hands. "I am not afraid of you."

He leans forwards, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. "I believe otherwise."

"What you believe is not important," she bites out, too soon to say she was not intimidated. "I want to know."

Sakura fascinates over his dumfounded expression for as long as it lives on his face.

"Know… _What_?"

Why he wants to dethrone her family, kill them, even. She wants to know what is his cause—universal or personal. She wants to know everything she can and she has no way of putting everything into words, so she settles for the cryptic, "Everything."

.

.

Bitches be bold and review~


End file.
